Small Town Band
by AbRaCaDaBrA
Summary: Chapter 3 Up! In a small, football-driven town, it's up to Kara, Jake, Chris, Sebatchmo, and Tory to level the football field and show Orville and a maniacal coach what an underfunded, overzealous marching band can do. Please R&R!
1. One Fateful Day in July

Dun dun dun! My first marching band fic! I am a major marching band-aholic and frequently my dreams concern marching band. A few nights ago I had a dream: a marching band with five members. This got me thinking. What would a band with five members sound like? What instruments would they have? In what kind of place would there only be five members in a marching band? The result: My fic. I plan on finishing this plot-driven story (actually, most of my stories are written without my intent to finish them or even a plot) but your comments would be GREATLY appreciated. Er, disclaimer…the only thing I can think of is "Stairway to Heaven" which is property of Led Zeppelin (hail!) and "Satchmo" (A/N: Satchmo!?!) which is…property I suppose of Louis Armstrong. Anyway, hope you like "Small Town Band". GO GL HIGHLANDERS!  
  
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Kara laughed when she saw the picture of the new school. "What is it, honey?" asked her mom, bewildered.  
  
"It's so small," her daughter replied, taking the photograph from the top of the pile. She studied the picture with a frown. "It's only one story, and it's kindergarten to twelfth?"  
  
"Well, my research shows it has a relatively good school system. Why don't you look at the student handbook and think about your electives?"  
  
"Aw, I already know them," protested Kara, but she took the pamphlet. She flipped through the electives, a much shorter list than she was used to in her outer-city public school. She gasped, and scanned the table of contents again, almost hyperventilating. "No!" she half whispered, half shouted.  
  
"What is it?" asked her mother concernedly.  
  
"They don't have a marching band! They don't even have a band at all!" she cried  
  
"Kara, you know Orville, Washington, has a population of 1,732. What would they need a band for? Besides, I always get concerned during competition season that your schedule is being overpowered. Now you'll have a bunch of free time for getting to know the 356 kids at your school."  
  
"I don't want to get to know the 356 kids at my school unless they can march and play an instrument or twirl a flag at the same time. And during competition season, band IS my schedule," she replied, trying not to get mad at the unfairness. What she said was true. She was a semi-popular person in her current school, but the people she really cried on the shoulders of for leaving were her fellow Color Guard members and bandies.  
  
"Look, honey, there's still a photography elective." Her mother pointed to the handbook. "You like photography, don't you?" Kara shrugged nonchalantly, crossing her arms in defiance. Her mother tried to console her, putting her arm on her shoulder. "Try living without band for a while, okay? Maybe you'll find you like it?"  
  
"'Living without band' is an oxymoron," Kara retorted, storming out of the room.  
  
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"I still can't believe you're doing this, Jake," said Tom, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
"Hey, if we're going to do a cover of 'Stairway to Heaven', we need a flute."  
  
"We can just skip that. Or synthesize it, or something."  
  
"Tom, if we're going to be touching a Led Zeppelin work, then we're going to do it all the way. I'm actually doing really well on it. Look!" Jake deftly put the flute together and brought it to his lips, playing a fast C-scale.  
  
"Very nice," commented Chris, who was sitting in the corner, reading a rock magazine. "There's no bass in the first part of the song, right?"  
  
"Right," answered Jake. "It'll just be me on flute and Tom, with you on vocals, then you on drums, and finally me on bass later in the song."  
  
"Okay, let's try it." Chris tossed the magazine into a corner of the garage and jumped behind his drum set.  
  
"From the top!" called Jake.  
  
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Tory looked at the innocuous pile of gold-colored metal with a smile on her face. "There, twenty years and it looks none the worse for wear," her father commented, freeing the contrabass from the shoddy packaging wrapped around it. He looked at the brass instrument in the light streaming in from the basement window carefully. "A few dings, a couple scratches, and," He pushed down the three valves, all of which stayed down. "Three valves in serious need of valve oil."  
  
"We can get that in Centralia, right?" asked Tory anxiously.  
  
"Sure! You'll find that valve oil is known as 'the currency of all brass players'. Maybe we can try knocking out a few of these dents and polishing up these scuffs, too. Have you been working on your scales?"  
  
She dutifully raised her fingers in the air and played out a B-flat contrabass scale: open, 1 and 3, 1 and 2, 2, open, 1 and 2, 1, open. "That's my girl!" her father said enthusiastically. "Let's head up to the music center and get you started on the 'road of tuba.'"  
  
"Can I bring it in the car?"  
  
Her father smiled. "Of course you can, sweetie."  
  
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Sebastian tried the triplet again. Almost, but not quite fast enough. He swallowed and blew into the trumpet again.  
  
Da-da-da!  
  
He did it!  
  
"Right on," he whispered. He played the song again, not stopping for the triplet as he usually did. Perfect!  
  
"Very good, Sebatchmo," called his big brother, annoyed, from two doors down.  
  
"I'm taking that as a compliment!" Sebastian shouted. Satchmo was a nickname of the jazz trumpet great Louis Armstrong. Sebastian's older brother combined "Sebastian" and "Satchmo" to call him "Sebatchmo" whenever his trumpet playing got to him. However, Sebastian never minded the nickname, because Louis was Sebastian's total role model. He was also the reason he was sitting up in his room on a hot summer day, working on an Armstrong solo he found on the Internet.  
  
"I'm going to Frank's house, Sebatchmo." The elder brother poked his head into Sebastian's room and jangled his car keys. "Tell Mom when she comes home, okay?"  
  
"Sure," replied Sebastian, massaging his practice-worn lips. "What if I want to come?"  
  
"We're playing football."  
  
"Never mind." Sebastian oiled his valves and watched, through the window, his brother drive down the street. 


	2. The Musicians of Orville

Yay! My story is being reviewed! (Sort of.) Well, actually, one un-asked- for review is doing as well or better than some other stories I have. Let's see…no new things that violate some kind of copyright law…Look! The story resembles one with a plot now! I'm a big girl now! There is some actual character development…well, physically anyway. It's kind of funny, I think I have a representative from each race in my five main characters…that happened accidentally, I promise! Each time I draw Jake he keeps turning out like Mike Shinoda…okay, yeah, let's just get on with the story. YEAH GOV! Oh, yeah, contest! I need an Orville mascot that they can somehow incorporate into their "uniforms". Write a review and post your entry to win a guest appearance in the story! :P  
  
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Kara pedaled down the street, looking at the street signs confusedly. She had been living in the small town of Orville for nearly a month now, but she was sure she had never heard of "Brook Drive" or "Shady Street" before. School was starting tomorrow and she was trying to make the most of her last day of summer. The only problem was that she was lost in the bewildering suburbs.  
  
To her luck, she saw an open garage halfway down the street to her left. She turned and tried to make out the figures in the darkened space before pulling to a complete stop. "Hello?" she called.  
  
"Yo, visitors!" shouted one of the three guys. They emerged from the garage into the driveway, all looking, surprised, at her.  
  
"Hey, are you new?" asked one of them. Kara nearly laughed at the sight: A tall guy, Asian features, about 5' 10", with dark blue spiky hair, ripped and faded jeans, and a torn black T-shirt, squinting in the bright light, and clutching a flute.  
  
"Yeah. I come from Chicago," she answered, smoothing out her blonde ponytail and silently thanking God for wearing her cutest tank top and capri pants.  
  
"Welcome to Orville," greeted the shortest of the three. He had naturally orange-red hair, which hung over his forehead shaggily, pale skin with lots of freckles, a black muscle shirt, and grey shorts of that weird polyester kind of material.  
  
Kara realized he held drumsticks, and that the third guy had a guitar. She did a double take - Orville musicians!  
  
"So, you guys are in a band, right?" she asked nervously.  
  
The flutist shrugged. "Just for the summer, really. We were just working on a Led Zeppelin song."  
  
Led Zeppelin – she knew them. A fellow bandie loved that band.  
  
"Can I hear it?"  
  
The guys looked at each other, a little surprised.  
  
"Well, we've never had an audience," admitted the guitarist.  
  
"Sure, why not," answered the short one. "Come on in."  
  
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Frank jumped out of Joey's reach and passed the ball to Matt. Matt ran forward and faked a pass to Greg to avoid Keith, leaving the "end zone" between two apple trees wide open. "It's good!" shouted Frank exuberantly as Matt slammed the football down past the trees.  
  
"Duh-duh-duh-da-da-dah!" tooted a deep brass sound.  
  
"Thank you, Tory, our cheerleader extraordinare!" replied Greg.  
  
"I'm not a cheerleader!" came a protest from the other side of the tangle of metal. "I'm a bandie."  
  
"You're a band aid," replied Joey, "which is what I want to put over your mouth."  
  
The upperclassmen sniggered.  
  
"Hey, I didn't come here to be insulted. I came here to back up my very unloving football teams."  
  
"You came here because you couldn't think up another song to practice!" answered Keith, laughing.  
  
One of the players said, "You need to talk to my little brother. All he does is sit in his room all day, playing trumpet."  
  
Tory peeked out over the baritone. "Who? Sebastian?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I didn't know he played trumpet! Can you drive me to your place?"  
  
Some guys laughed, but no one protested.  
  
"Hey, to get rid of you, I'd drive anywhere. C'mon, let's go."  
  
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"No way, man," protested Tom. "She's not sitting with us."  
  
"Oh, come on, it's not like we have a reputation to ruin or something," replied Chris.  
  
"Besides, she's the new girl. We'll just let her sit with us until she gets some other friends in Orville," added Jake.  
  
Chris said, "Yeah. And really, if you think about it, we're technically in high school now. The lunch table configurations don't really matter much anymore."  
  
"Fine." Tom shrugged and looked down at his schedule. "What do we have next, science?"  
  
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Kara had brought a lunch, therefore saving herself the trouble of fighting through the lunch line, but now she was looking around aimlessly for somewhere to sit in the sea of unknown faces. Her eyes fell on three familiar faces: Tom, Chris, and Jake. They waved her over to their corner table.  
  
"Thanks, you guys are lifesavers," she greeted, sitting down next to Jake. The tables at Orville High (which was, after all, just a section of Orville Public School) were long and narrow, and folded up in the middle to make the cafeteria into a gym. The three guys and girl were at one end. At the other end of the table was a dusky-featured girl with her long black hair in two braids, talking excitedly with a friendly-looking black boy holding a paperback biography.  
  
"That's Tory," said Jake, pointing to the girl, "and that's Sebastian."  
  
"I'm going to go introduce myself." Kara slid down the table, ending up next to Tory. "Hey Tory, hey Sebastian, my name is Kara. What's up?"  
  
"Hello!" answered Tory enthusiastically.  
  
Sebastian smiled but asked, "How did you know our names?"  
  
"Jake told me," replied Kara, motioning towards the other end of the table. The boys waved feebly. Apparently, everybody here knew each other but not necessarily liked each other.  
  
Kara noticed Sebastian held a biography of Louis Armstrong. She wasn't sure she knew exactly who he was or if she knew any songs of his, but she did know he was a trumpet player.  
  
"You like Louis Armstrong?" she asked Sebastian casually.  
  
"He's my idol," he answered, grinning.  
  
"And he plays trumpet nearly as well as him, too," added Tory.  
  
"Oh, come on." Sebastian laughed.  
  
"You play trumpet?" asked Kara, surprised.  
  
"Yeah. And Tory plays tuba. We provide theme songs for the neighborhood summer football teams."  
  
Kara gasped. "You're bandies?"  
  
"Well, as near as you can get in Orville," answered Tory with a frown. "Unless…you weren't in a band back where you came from?"  
  
"I sure was!" answered Kara exuberantly. "I was on Color Guard."  
  
"Wow!" Sebastian was surprised. "That's really cool!"  
  
Kara was struck by a sudden idea. "Hey, are there any more of you bandies in Orville?"  
  
"Not really," admitted Tory.  
  
"Well, what do you guys think of starting our own band at school?"  
  
"We wouldn't have any where to play."  
  
"Football games – you do have scholastic football games, don't you?"  
  
"Er…yes." Sebastian shrugged. "The coach is a maniac. The only thing he likes about football games is football. We don't even have cheerleaders. Halftime is only as long as he can stand not trying to cream the other teams."  
  
"Maybe if we get good he'll let us perform."  
  
"Not likely."  
  
"Well, it would be fun, right? Let me just check with my other bandies." Kara slid back to Jake, Chris, and Tom. "Hey guys, what do think of starting a marching band?"  
  
"You're kidding," said Tom.  
  
"Interesting," said Chris.  
  
"Definitely!" said Jake, all at the same time.  
  
"Aw, it would be fun!" added Kara.  
  
"You can't march with guitar or drums," answered Tom.  
  
"I have that padded metal thing for wearing the snare drum," protested Chris.  
  
"And I can play flute," finished Jake.  
  
"So you're interested?"  
  
"Count me out," replied Tom. "Sorry."  
  
Chris and Jake nodded. "We've got to do something past summer break," said Chris.  
  
Tory and Sebastian looked at Kara questioningly, and she waved them over to the other end of the table.  
  
"So we're forming a band: one trumpet, one tuba, one flute, one drum, and one guard." Kara looked around at the people.  
  
"That's one crazy idea," said Tom, smiling. 


	3. The First Day of Practice

Hey! People are reviewing me! This is great! No entries for the contest yet…give me a mascot that can be incorporated into their marching uniforms (AKA identical things sewn together by Tory and Kara) and win a walk-on role in the next chapter. Yes, so anyway…disclaimer…Satchmo (A/N again: SATCHMO?!?) Louis Armstrong yada yada…whoever invented PVC piping and parachutes…and super glue…and bleachers…and Scarlet O'Hara…okay let me skip to something worthy. Their song (yes, 'song', it's a band of five members, what do you want from me?) is called "Highland Legend" and is by John Moss. We played it in eighth grade and I still love it, so that's why it is here. I don't know anything else about it so if someone else does (Publisher, copyright info, etc.) please review me and tell me. GL RULES! Yes, so now, let the story continue…  
  
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Kara went to the hardware store the next Saturday, looking for a small, straight, six-foot section of PVC pipe. The smallest width they had was an inch across, which, in addition to the walls of the pipe itself, made it about the same size as the ones she used in Chicago. She strapped it to her bike along the long rod below her seat, making sure it didn't interfere with her back tire's rotation. When she got home, she went downstairs to the basement and brought out a section of dark blue, nylon parachute material her father had found for her earlier in the week.  
  
First, she borrowed her mother's sewing machine, and, cutting out a five–by–three square foot section, she hemmed the ends. Next, she looped one of the three–foot wide sides over, making sure it was a somewhat loose fit on the pipe before sewing it to the rest of the fabric. Finally, she used the super glue Jake had lent her and ran it up and down the pipe. Very carefully, she slid the loop over the pipe and squished it down on the line of super glue when it was in the right spot. She let it dry for a moment and then walked outside, onto her back porch.  
  
Humming a bit of last year's show, she thought, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!" and did the flag work to her favorite part. Her homemade flag stood up to the test! Still smiling and holding the flag, she ran inside and called Jake on the phone.  
  
"It worked!" she said excitedly.  
  
Jake mumbled something sleepily, and Kara looked at the clock: ten AM. "Are you still asleep?" she asked, surprised.  
  
"I was," he admitted. "It is Saturday."  
  
"Now, if we were back home," Kara chided, "we would be up at six, at school by seven, and on the practice field for three hours already."  
  
"Well, we aren't 'back home', but I take it you're suggesting that we have a practice today?"  
  
"Yes," she answered. "Have you been practicing?"  
  
"You know I've only been on flute for a month. But, yes, I have, which is surprising, considering the very little amount of time I have outside of all this homework."  
  
"Well…um…great. Can you call Chris for me? I want to get everyone over to the park field by eleven."  
  
"He's not likely to be up at this ungodly hour, even less likely than me."  
  
Kara rolled her eyes. "Then it would be easier for you to try and wake him up instead of me?"  
  
Jake gave a big fake sigh of annoyance. "All right." His voice brightened slightly. "So I'll see you at eleven, right?"  
  
"Right," answered Kara. "'Bye."  
  
"'Bye." He hung up, and Kara looked down at her band folder to find Tory's number.  
  
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Sebastian checked his watch. Five to eleven, and no sign of his other bandies. He felt kind of funny, sitting in the middle of the town park with his trumpet. However, the usual crowd of jocks that he had to watch out for was at the school, in the middle of football practice with the ruthless Coach Giorgio. Finally, he saw Kara come from the direction of the little kid's playground with her homemade flag, and he grinned at the sight. She waved and walked over to the bleachers where he sat.  
  
"Ready for your solo, Sebatchmo?" Sebastian had let his older brother's nickname leak out to his other band friends, and now was only known as Sebatchmo.  
  
"We all have solos," he replied, laughing.  
  
That was true. They were playing a song entitled "Highland Legend", which they had adapted to their four-part band, and therefore had some point where each person was playing alone. Jake had the clarinet, oboe, piccolo, and flute parts; Sebatchmo had the alto and tenor sax, French horn, and trumpet parts; and Tory covered the bari sax, bass clarinet, trombone, baritone, and tuba parts. Chris, of course, played everything percussion as well as he could on one snare drum, and Kara created her own flag movements. They had obtained the music from a music shop in Centralia that had given them the whole score for half off when the manager heard their story.  
  
"Look, here comes Tory." He pointed to a walking pile of metal obscured by towels and cords approaching from the opposite corner Kara came from. "I better help her," he said quickly, putting his trumpet down on the bleacher and nearly running over to her.  
  
"Aw, isn't that chivalrous," thought Kara out loud in a bad Scarlet O'Hara accent.  
  
"Very," answered a voice from under the bleachers. Kara jumped down and looked through the wooden planks to see Jake and Chris staring up at her with cheesy grins.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked jokingly, standing up in surprise.  
  
"Well, actually, we came down here to try and scare you," replied Chris, drumsticks in hand and snare drum harness on his shoulders.  
  
"Hey, girl with six-foot pole here," she warned menacingly, waving the flag, then she laughed. "Okay, come on out. I want to hear how we sound."  
  
The two boys came out to the front of the bleachers, careful to avoid Sebatchmo's trumpet, and sat down next to each other with their sheet music in their laps. Sebatchmo, carrying the tuba with Tory, arrived. He picked up the trumpet and sat down as Tory unwrapped her instrument and oiled the valves.  
  
"All right, everybody, as we don't have a drum major and I'm not part of the music making, I'll do the conducting whenever we have a sit-down rehearsal. Is that okay?"  
  
"Who does the conducting when we're marching?" asked Tory.  
  
"How do you march?" replied Chris.  
  
Kara blinked. They had never marched before! "We'll worry about that next week. Oh, and I guess we don't really need a conductor….Chris, you say 'mark time mark' when we start a song, then we wait four beats and then start the song when we march."  
  
"Okay." Chris didn't really seem to understand but Kara didn't feel like teaching fundamentals at the moment.  
  
"So now, let's do 'Highland Legend'. Can everybody have this memorized by next week?" Chris and Jake groaned, Sebatchmo said, "Done!", and Tory nodded. "All right now. On the count of four: One, two, three, four…." She pointed at Sebatchmo and he began his solo. 


End file.
